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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23999977">Detestable Act</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/courtneybgood/pseuds/courtneybgood'>courtneybgood</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Doctor Faustus - Christopher Marlowe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alludes to rape briefly, Biblical Homophobia, Elizabethan Debauchery, Elizabethan English, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Master &amp; Servant, Theatre</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 21:48:53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,397</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23999977</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/courtneybgood/pseuds/courtneybgood</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Dost thou think, Faustus, that the pair of us are now two schoolboys, sharing tales of conquest and groping?”</p><p>“Well, why not? Thou have promised me all knowledge.”<br/> <br/>“And must that include my particular affairs?” I snap. The man is a child, a stumbling colt. </p><p>“Aye, by necessity.” Faustus purrs, and I am thinking of how his flesh shall be torn like piecemeal, how my Lord will use his innards like skip rope.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>John Faustus/Mephistopheles</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>37</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Detestable Act</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Warning for a mention/brief suggestion of rape, and a big helping of Old Testament Homophobia.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="small">MEPHIST. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="small"> Marriage is but a ceremonial toy, <br/> And, if thou lov’st me, think no more of it. <br/> I’ll cull thee out the fairest courtezans, <br/> And bring them every morning to thy bed: <br/> She whom thine eye shall like, thy heart shall have, <br/> Were she as chaste as was Penelope, <br/> As wise as Saba, or as beautiful <br/> As was bright Lucifer before his fall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span class="small"> “If there is a man who lies with a male as those who lie with a woman, both of them have committed a detestable act; they shall surely be put to death.<br/> Their bloodguiltiness is upon them.”<br/>  - Leviticus 20:13</span>
</p><hr/><p>“Whom <em> dost </em> thou eye like, Mephistopheles?”</p><p> </p><p>The question takes me by surprise. Starts me out of a melancholic trance, lost as I was in the swirling dredges of my possets. I look at Faustus. He has closed his book, set aside his quill. Ink is smudged up the side of his jaw. I quirk a brow at him. </p><p> </p><p>“Thou promised me the fairest maidens, the most lascivious of whores. I have not seen them.” </p><p> </p><p>Ah. I stand from my chair in the corner, smooth my doublet. Perfunctory. Where doublet begins and my body starts is unclear, anyway. This form is not mine own. </p><p> </p><p>“Thou have not asked again for them. Shouldst thee desire sweet company, Faustus, then happily, I shall -”</p><p> </p><p>My master waves a silencing hand. I silence myself. </p><p> </p><p>“Later. Nay. I am curious. Let us talk of what most pleaseth the eye. We are both men - well, a man and spirit, but all more reason to take heed of <em>thy </em>counsel on the matter. For surely, in thy travels across this sphere and all others, must have, must have -,”</p><p> </p><p>Man and <em> demon, </em> sweet Faustus. Man and <em> devil, wretch, Minister of Hell. </em> </p><p> </p><p>“Must have?” I prompt him, for he is struggling on the shores of that what he wishes me to divulge.</p><p> </p><p>“Well!” He laughs, a bark, gesturing towards me. </p><p><br/>“Must have knowledge of all carnal sins? Of lust? Have seen all manner of beautiful, lascivious creatures lay-to men for their pleasure?” </p><p> </p><p>Faustus leans back in his chair, raising his eyebrows at me, ever the expression of smug bemusement. He is so innocent of his fate. It would strike at me, if it could. </p><p> </p><p>“See, Mephistopheles. Thou art wise in <em> all </em> matters.”</p><p> </p><p>“All that our Lord Lucifer delights in, I am wise in.” </p><p> </p><p>“Then you have lain with mortal women?” </p><p> </p><p>“You forget, Faustus. This is not my true form. When I appeared to thee unmasked, thou shrunk in revulsion.” </p><p> </p><p>“Certainly, yes, you can change into all manner of shapes as it most suits you! But you appear to me now wholly a <em> man. </em> Therefore it stands to reason that you assume this shape whenever appearing to man. You touch, you pass through this world as a mortal might. Here!<em>” </em></p><p> </p><p>Abruptly, my master stands, plucks a mottled apple from a wooden trencher. His eyes are dark and wide, dancing with excitement. He’s alighted upon something. </p><p> </p><p>“Canst thou eat?”</p><p> </p><p>“Aye, Faustus. But never taste.”</p><p> </p><p>His boyish grin fades. The apple is set back down. Alack. I stifle a smile. </p><p> </p><p>“Never?”</p><p> </p><p>“All taste in Hell curls to ash on the tongue. The sweetest of scents are rancid to me, the strongest of flavours no duller than ditchwater.” I murmur, grim. </p><p> </p><p>Not what he wanted to hear. He offers a “Bah!” then turns from me, shakes his head. He is pacing now, as he is wont to do.</p><p> </p><p>“I lost sight of that which I wanted to know. Dost or, <em> hast </em> thou, had experience in that cardinal sin which moved me, methinks, to desire a wife?”</p><p> </p><p>“Have I felt lust?” </p><p> </p><p>He stops in his constant movement then, levels a look at me. </p><p> </p><p>“Have you?”</p><p> </p><p>“...I feel and act upon all that Hell delights in.”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Details</em>, man!”</p><p> </p><p>“Dost thou think, Faustus, that the pair of us are now two schoolboys, sharing tales of conquest and groping?”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, why not? Thou have promised me all knowledge.”</p><p> </p><p>“And must that include my particular affairs?” I snap. The man is a child, a stumbling colt. </p><p> </p><p>“Aye, by necessity.” Faustus purrs, and I am thinking of how his flesh shall be torn like piecemeal, how my Lord will use his innards like skip rope. </p><p> </p><p>“Very well, Faustus!” I spit, suddenly animated, stepping away from my corner chair and up to his desk. “Whilst I dwell in Hell, many a time have I borne all manner of beastly creatures. I have played the saddle for Lucifer and liked it as much as I did abhor it. For there is no <em> wooing </em> in our kingdom, Faustus, and all that is pleasure must, <em> by necessity</em>, be pain. I have been fucked.”</p><p> </p><p>Methinks poor Faustus has lost his wit now, for he listens with a dumb expression, dark eyes wide. I persist, striding back and forth like a caged bear. </p><p> </p><p>“Marry, on this Earth, have I been fucked! For many souls that I have carried unto Hell, disobeyed scripture, <em> Leviticus; </em>their bloodguiltiness is upon them! I have defiled them and oft they have defiled me.” I am snarling. I pause, catch myself, lest my rage overcome me, and I dispatch the good doctor prematurely. </p><p> </p><p>Faustus’ expression is unchanging. I inhale, compose myself in perfect gloomy stoicism as if my little outburst had never occurred. Faustus licks his lips, hungry. As I suspected. </p><p> </p><p>“Soft, soft,” Faustus mutters, belatedly. “I meant no offense, good Mephistopheles.” </p><p> </p><p>“None was taken.” I grit out. He raises his eyebrows and slowly smiles. I cannot blame him. </p><p> </p><p>“Thou hast lain with men. Not women?” He asks softly, stroking his beard. I shrug, nod. </p><p> </p><p>“Aye. Many women have I planted the seed of sin in their hearts, stoking their innermost desires, turning their pretty chins down towards the flames. An occasion called for it, I would have them too. Should Lucifer command it.” </p><p> </p><p>Faustus is still smiling, although there is nothing wherein to find any humour. </p><p> </p><p>“Methinks the mighty Mephistopheles has a <em> preference. </em>”</p><p> </p><p>“What of it?” I retort, steepling my fingers. Dirt is gathering under my fingernails, no matter how much I idly pick at it. Irremovable filth. </p><p> </p><p>“Nothing of it. I simply observe it. Thou answered my question.” He rumbles, stepping forward, touching one of my silvery buttons. I repress a sigh. I know what is coming. </p><p> </p><p>“Thy question?” </p><p> </p><p>He ignores me, deigns instead to start a new dispute. </p><p> </p><p>“In Hell, such acts are possible?” His voice lowers as if his forsaken God will not hear our discourse. “Copulation? The joys of the flesh?”  </p><p> </p><p>“Of the flesh, certainly, although no babies are ever born.” I reply drily, deciding to smile at him. </p><p> </p><p>“Then Hell I do not fear!” He chortles darkly, cocking his head to the side. A portrait of a smirking idiot. Apish buzzard. He will be mine to torture, I have been promised. For his foolishness, I will grease the sheen of my skull with his melted fat, make sweet wine of his blood. </p><p> </p><p>“Then fear it not, my Faustus.” I murmur, fond. </p><p> </p><p>“Thou wouldst bring me men, then?” He asks thickly. </p><p> </p><p>“I wouldst bring thee whoever thee most desires,” I reply, a diplomat. “Thou hast spoke much of beautiful women, of wives, of whores. I shouldst look amongst womenfolk for the fairest of them.” </p><p> </p><p>I am toying with Faustus. I know that he desires man as he desires woman, that he presses upon this in a pitiful attempt to ask for a man. A man to lay-to. He needn’t fret. He is beyond judgment, for he has already been judged. A damned man can damn himself over and over, to me it makes but small difference. </p><p> </p><p>Faustus is nodding, grim, and plucks up his goblet, finishing it. As he sets it back upon his desk, I lean past him, taking the bottle to pour him another. I must always be dutiful, attentive. </p><p> </p><p>“...And shouldst I have an appetite...for a man?” He asks, frowning, predictable. He is a book I have already read. </p><p> </p><p>“Why, Faustus.” I purr, passing him his goblet, “Then I shall bring you as many men as you have stomach for. An thou hast mind for some slip of boy or many able, lusty men, bearded and broad, then,” I smile, curtly, “They shall be provided.” </p><p> </p><p>The doctor laughs in bewilderment, nodding, wild-eyed. He sips his wine, smiling at me all the while. He is trying to discern how to ask for what he wants from me. </p><p><br/>“You do surprise me continually, great Mephistopheles. Talking so brazenly of such acts, as if they were nought.” He chuckles, the pupils of his eyes as wide as a bird. </p><p> </p><p>“No, not nought! Ne’r nought. All sin is precious, and much should be made of it.” I tease - because sometimes, it is fun to be playful with my master. He has a penchant for playfulness. He welcomes my declaration, laughs heartily, tongue and teeth stained with his drink. </p><p> </p><p>“<em>Perchance</em>,” He begins slyly, and here it is. How long men take to get to their intent, how they insist on circling conversations like vultures. “Perchance, I shouldst desire no company but thine?” </p><p> </p><p>I play innocent, to match him, for I know he shall like it. He is already hard in his breeches. </p><p> </p><p>“My company is continual, Faustus. I shall not leave thy side unless thou commands it.” </p><p> </p><p>“Aye,” He sighs, waving his stained hand, “and for this, I am eternally bounden. But we are discussing matters of wanton sport.” His voice has become weak - no, <em> shy </em>. That makes me possessive, amused. His desperate want for a rut-time has rubbed off on me, and thus, my patience wears thin.</p><p> </p><p>“Whatever Faustus shall command, I shall perform.” I promise, raising my chin, drawing myself to the full height of this pitiful form. He is still taller.</p><p> </p><p>“And wilt thou take pleasure in the deliverance of such commands?” He asks quietly. I cannot restrain myself from laughter. </p><p> </p><p>“I take pleasure for nothing but the deliverance of sin. All else is torment.” </p><p> </p><p>Faustus smiles back at me, toothy, detestable. He is rolling up his cuffs, uncomfortable in his accoutrements. “I would have thou for such a pastime.” He admits, and my face is unmoving, blank. </p><p> </p><p>“Then you may have me, Faustus, and use me to your liking.” I tell him flatly. </p><p> </p><p>Faustus is a blinking fool. “...But thou will not want me? Only queen it for he who commands?”</p><p> </p><p>“Thou thinks I hold thee so carelessly?” I snort, barely masking my derision. He is so innocent. He is so innocent. “I shall <em> revel </em>in how my Faustus commits sodomy for his hellish minister.” </p><p> </p><p>He sets the goblet down heavily. </p><p> </p><p>“Come, spirit, be close with me.” Faustus commands, voice hoarse. I settle my arms over his shoulders, and kiss him softly, for the best of sin begins as sweet gentility. He kisses back, and tastes of red wine, salt, I am sure, if I could taste him. His beard scrapes against mine own, and since his eyes are closed, I close mine to match. The locks of his hair fall against my eyelids. I lick into that ashen cavity of his mouth.</p><p> </p><p>He is already making urgent, rumbling noises, and his bony fingers come to fumble with the buttons of my doublet. There is no need for that. I make it so I am wearing no doublet with a swift, fluttering hand gesture. He jolts with surprise, then laughs throatily, opening his eyes, breaking our wet kiss. </p><p> </p><p>This false body is scrawny, pale, lightly dusted with hair. Faustus seems pleased enough withall. He traces a trembling hand down my sternum, smiling all the while. I entangle my fingers with his hair and pull hard, harder than he might like, but O, how he groans at that. Upper lip curling, the man hides his face into my neck, leaving wet kisses there. His touches are so gentle. Unlike Hell, and yet this is Hell. My mouth hangs agape. I am unused to this treatment. </p><p> </p><p>“Bend over.” He growls into my skin, and that is more familiar. </p><p> </p><p>Obedient to all faults, I step back and turn, bracing myself over the top of his writing desk. I arch my back like a woman would, to please him, and he responds with a haggard groan, hurriedly pressing up against me, still in his hose. I turn, look at him coyly over my shoulder. </p><p> </p><p>“Shouldst I get rid of our accoutrements, Faustus?” I ask sternly. I am already raising a hand to perform this magic. </p><p> </p><p>“Nay,” He huffs, his hand grabbing at my wrist. I go limp in his firm grasp. “Nay. I will pluck them off.” He’s yanking at the ties of my breeches, reaching around and under me with his free hand. Needless nuisance, but I let him, the knave, lying my cheek on the cool desktop, watching him with downcast eyes. He unlaces me, pushes the hose off of my hips, and down to my shins. A growl of approval. I close my eyes again, smiling. </p><p> </p><p>“And I may do this once in Hell?” He asks, settling a gentle hand on my body’s rump. </p><p> </p><p>“Thou mayst do something like this.” I reply, vague as I like. Thou will not enjoy it in Hell, Faustus. Great Belzebub will split thee in two. Thou will know only the pleasure of a torture relenting, and yet thee shall never know that pleasure. Thou will not remember knowing pleasure. </p><p> </p><p>His hand raises gooseflesh over my body's back. I raise my behind further into the air, an inditetation. </p><p> </p><p>“Hast thou known the pleasures of another man's wit?” I ask, amused. </p><p> </p><p>“No.” Faustus pants, “But thought on it. I have oft thought on it.” With a smile, I reach back, grasp deftly at his hip bone, pull him closer. He laughs, breathless. “Soft!” He mutters. Poor Faustus is overwhelmed. </p><p> </p><p>“I am a patient creature.” I insist, despite the slow squirming of my hips, the increasing pressure I put upon the outline of his manhood. “I shall wait dutifully until thou art ready for me.” Whereto I wiggle, shifting further back against him. He groans again, pained. </p><p> </p><p>“Sweet Mephistopheles.” He mumbles. He is struggling with his own lacings, now. I resist the urge to turn his hose to unraveled thread, to ash, to air, and let him persist in his futile struggle with his own breeches, shouldst it please him. “Gentle, clever Mephistopheles.”</p><p> </p><p>He’s clearly delirious, espousing nonsense. My cheek feels very warm against the wood of the desk. “Gentle?”</p><p> </p><p>“Aye, when it pleases thou.” He quips, and his heavy manhood falls hot against my inner thigh, bare now. I smile grimly, eyes rolling back between closed lids. </p><p> </p><p>“...What dost thou resolve to do with me, my Faustus?” I ask quietly, pained wanting in my chest. I cannot have anything of bliss without tremendous lashings of pain. His warm, careful grip on my hips is agony. Like gentle fingers of curling branding irons. I want this done with. I want my Master over me, done with me, satisfied. </p><p> </p><p>“What magic can you perform to aid me in my…” He hesitates, but there’s a lecherous smile in his voice, “...Ease of going?” </p><p> </p><p>I snort, mutter, and wave a lazy hand. The curve between my body's buttocks becomes slick with oily wetness. Crudely, I reach back, press my fingers between my cheeks, rubbing slickness over my hole. A shuddering gasp from Faustus, that devolves into broken laughter. I’m laughing too, then grunt, as I penetrate myself. My own finger feels like nothing, dull, sensationless. Any appendage of Faustus’s will feel better. </p><p> </p><p>“A clever trick and one thou must teach me.” He mutters, and I am barely restraining a roll of the eyes. </p><p> </p><p>“Aye Faustus. Whatsoever thou desires.” I hiss, pressing in, knuckle deep. </p><p> </p><p>“Christ!” He spits, leering. I revolt. </p><p> </p><p>“Speak not of him!” I snap, vicious, hateful. I am a leashed dog. Were I free to perform mine own will, I would rip his throat out with this body’s blunted, crooked teeth. I would fuck the wound it left. I would hit him over the side of his head, give him back his deed of gift, send him barrelling into the arms of God. My Faustus could have been with God. </p><p> </p><p>“Mark me, Faustus! Think only on the Devil, and thy acts of debauchery.” I am aiming at pure malice, but I am out of breath, and my tone pitches too high. The stretch of my added finger (two now). </p><p> </p><p>Faustus winces, ashamed. “Shun that. <em> You </em> make me forget myself.” He murmurs, and I forgive him, the dog. His big hands part my thighs, pull them apart. Exposing me. I sigh, mine own appendage dangling half-hard and neglected over the ledge of his desk. He will have me now. </p><p> </p><p>Slowly, Faustus lines up his cock-head, blunt and thick, and breaches me. It doesn’t hurt, no more than my constant torment. It only stretches and builds. Feels like evil. Feels <em>good. </em>Oh. </p><p> </p><p>“<em>Brave </em> Faustus.” I croak. “Expedience. <em> Please.</em>” </p><p> </p><p>Faustus chuckles, apparently delighted with himself, and bears down, foining, skewering, bottoming out. He is all in me, now, flush. I am tremulous. Damn’d Faustus. He is infinitive. Big. I cannot still myself. </p><p> </p><p>“Too much?” He purrs. I am quietly raging. </p><p> </p><p>“Take Lucifer, and tell thyself that thou art <em> too much </em>for Mephistopheles.” I hiss, for it is true. But demonic fancy is not the same, as the act in this form. In this form, I am pitiful, overcome, dripping from my swaying appendage. </p><p> </p><p>Faustus begins to thrust. I am <em>hiccuping</em>, frowning, bearing back against him. It is rapture. Such noises that escape me, in this form, high and petulant, angry. </p><p> </p><p>“Aye, aye.” He groans, hoarse as a wizened man. “Thou takes me absolutely, my Mephistopheles. <em> Servant. </em>More - more dutiful, more pliant than any wife.”</p><p> </p><p>“Obedient!” I whimper, encouraging the man. How glad I am, to have discouraged him for any notions of marriage. </p><p> </p><p>“<em>Yes. </em>Ever obedient. Thou servest me, and no other master.” He babbles.</p><p> </p><p>“One other master.” I cannot <em> not </em>say that it is so. Lucifer is my Lord. </p><p> </p><p>“Yes, <em> one </em> other master.” Faustus grumbles, impatient with my semantic. He bounces my hips as if I was a toy, a quim. I grunt, grim-faced once more. I fall silent. Let Faustus lay-to upon his saddle. Already, I am nearing bliss, yet I know I shall be hard-pressed to reach it. My body works continually against me, to give into pleasure, no matter what form it takes. It wants, it likes, but release evades me. Always. </p><p> </p><p>“...<em> This </em>is better.” Faustus moans. “Thou are quiet and suppliant. Methinks you make the sweetest companion.” </p><p> </p><p>How can I respond to that? What does he even think that he means? I am his downfall, his executioner. I whimper in response, cock throbbing with the pulse of false heart. </p><p> </p><p>“Thou mayst use me as thy pleases, to the morrow, for all four and twenty years, shouldst thou wish it.” I hiss through gritted teeth. </p><p> </p><p>“Aye.” Faustus moans, losing his rhythm, the hopeless fool. I am flattered beyond measure. </p><p><br/>“Will thou spill thyself so soon? Come into thine servant, as thou pleasest, with nary a thought for your Mephistopheles?” I hiss, angry, delighted. </p><p> </p><p>“Aye!” He cries, and I am smug, resigned satisfaction, knowing how I lure and please my master, knowing how totally he is beyond absolution. I have bewitched him completely. His cock I wear like a well-fitting glove. I have damn’d up thy passage, Faustus. </p><p> </p><p>He spills his seed inside me loudly, cursing, denouncing God, lathing me with idolatry, shuddering, smacking his hand across my rump. I am silent, stiff, trembling. O, if I could reach completion. If I could feel that bliss. I ache, continually. </p><p> </p><p>“Ah. <em> Ah. </em>Sweet Mephistopheles.” He whispers, as a prayer, and this is almost good enough. His sweat drips onto me. Slow, tender, he pulls out of me, and I am left empty and cold again, the flickerings of pleasure snuffed. </p><p> </p><p>“I will have more of that.” He sighs wearily, and as I turn to regard him, rising from my stooped position, his eyes are warm and sated, delighted. He believes himself to be a king, and I his concubine, magician, spectre. He is a handsome lamb who knows not of impending slaughter, only of the fresh grass and seed and endless field in which he is penned. </p><p> </p><p>“Oh Faustus,” I whisper. “Thou wilt have greater things than these.” </p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Lockdown has me like *writes smut for a four-hundred-year-old play in an attempt at Elizabethan English*. </p><p>Writing this had me wondering; with source material this old, when does a work cease to become fanfiction and just become adaptation? Erotic adaptation, I mean, sure. But still. </p><p>Comments are always adored!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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